Mechanical Heart Complex
by Saerzion
Summary: A cold and ruthless Lone Wanderer leads a solitary life in Rivet City after a series of ethically questionable decisions compels her to take a second look at what she has become… or what she has always been. Often at odds with the principled and stern Harkness, she comes to terms with the notion that between her and the android, she is the one more suited for a mechanical heart.
1. Ghost in a Prism

**Warning(s):** _Sexual content, graphic violence, possible references to past trauma, and some femslash._

**A/N:** Originally, I had written this as a sequel to one of my fics on my main account, but I've revised it into its own standalone story. The premise and the Lone Wanderer's history have virtually remained the same, but she's now a different character from the one featured in the other fic. I will state upfront that I never played the _Broken Steel_ DLC (as it took me five years on and off to actually finish _Fallout 3_). That being the case, this story assumes that the Lone Wanderer woke up in the Citadel's clinic after Project Purity, but gave the Brotherhood the finger and ran off without taking part in the events of _Broken Steel_. What a charming protagonist we're dealing with here…

x-x-x-x-x

**- I -**

**Ghost in a Prism**

Her boots plodded along the steel bridge leading to the looming, docked city, all metal structures and creaking walls. The bleak January sky stretched out above her in thick sheets of dark gray clouds. She bore the physical weight of her firearms and power armor, the mental weight of the choices that led her to this point, and the icy mindset that kept her from caring. Fatigue pulled at every muscle in her body as she clenched her teeth and continued dragging herself forward, the promise of a warm hotel bed too enticing to quit now.

In the distance, she spotted a familiar figure clad in the Rivet City security armor, Chinese assault rifle at the ready in his hands. Tension worked its way up her spine, but she proceeded toward him regardless. The events of the past few days—past few weeks, even—had taken their toll, and she needed to hole herself up somewhere safe for a while and let it all sink in. Nothing made sense anymore, and in a world that reviled her for her deeds over the span of five months in the Wasteland, she had reached her limit.

But despite all she'd gone through out here, the threads of her humanity had already begun fraying a long time ago.

x-x-x-x-x

"_If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help stop mine. I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and if you still care enough to help me, you should remember it. Raine, I… we need you. Please come back."_

_She listened to the repeating message, glazed vision roving over the dusk-colored plains. Dirt flew in gentle gusts over the screen of her Pip-Boy, which mapped the sound waves of Amata Almodovar's voice. She wiped the sweat from her brow with a grimy hand, allowing the nostalgic lilt to distract her from the chaotic thoughts plaguing her. But after a while, the inevitable ache only added to the turmoil._

_Her blue eyes drifted to the outer door of Vault 101, the worn and cracked wood beckoning from a mere thirty yards away. Two and a half months had passed since she'd crossed that threshold, and somehow she found herself back, a good deal smarter and with ten times the firepower. Still, she made no further move toward the entrance. She'd traveled back here on a whim and picked up the distress call, having walked all the way from the Citadel and past the ruins of Megaton to stand in this indecisive spot._

_Wisps of long black hair escaped the messy ponytail and fluttered over her shoulders as she cleared her constricting throat. Both a prison and a home, the Vault lived within her in the form of bitter memories scraping at the back of her skull. The environment that cultivated her upbringing had left a gaping wound in her chest, which festered to a gnawing absence of basic compassion. She dug her nails into the front of her armor toward her sternum, wondering if, upon reentering that Vault, she'd be able to find and retrieve the soul it had stolen._

_Her gaze narrowed as she weighed her options, the scale heavily biased against the perceived wrongs committed by the residents inside. Sneering expressions came to mind, followed by derisive remarks meant to criticize, put down, _humiliate_ her. The corridors echoed with their whispers, bearing thinly veiled scorn for the girl who had never fit in. Her father's status provided the only buffer from outright ridicule, and once he had fled, she'd had little choice but to follow, lest she invite the full force of 101's wrath upon her head._

_Such hardships in such a small community, and she never knew the reason why._

_She took a step forward as Amata's pleading words persisted around her. At one point in time, she would have done anything Amata asked in return for her favor and a chance at having her feelings reciprocated. A foolish wish, which ended in a painful separation. Some others supported her after Amata's rejection, but the Overseer's spiteful sheep outnumbered them. She ultimately withdrew into herself and rode out the storm of her adolescence in cold isolation._

_Until Freddie Gomez came along._

_Her lips fell into a hard line as she tore her sight away from the Vault entrance. Freddie. Words still eluded her whenever she tried to describe the progression of that relationship. It was all a plethora of guilt and desire and… just so much wasted potential. And although a hidden part of her admitted that something there still lingered, the blame locked it away along with the last vestiges of her civility._

_She shut off the radio frequency on her Pip-Boy, features blank to mask the ire churning under the surface. The same place that housed her past suffering now dared to ask for her help, and she would have laughed at the irony if her father's recent death hadn't taken more of her with him. She felt whittled down to nothing, yet everyone from all directions saw her as the answer, like some kind of deus ex machina; a ghost in a prism._

_A vindictive scoff left her mouth as she pivoted on her heel, and she drew her hunting rifle to prepare for the dangers of the encroaching night on her long trek back to the Citadel. The final stages of Project Purity awaited. She had no time to rescue a society that lacked redeeming qualities. Closure, amends… these things held no appeal for her. She'd washed her hands of Vault 101. Those people who drove her out now needed her? Too bad. _

_Let them rot._

x-x-x-x-x

She met the security chief's steady look with a steely one as she reached the end of the bridge and came to a halt in front of him, panting from exertion. He appeared as well-groomed as ever, clean-shaven, and with his neat chestnut hair combed to the side. Strict brown eyes searched her face while his frown deepened, the disapproval in his expression enough to grate on her nerves.

"Raine Sinclair. What brings you back to Rivet City?" he demanded as he lowered the assault rifle.

"A3-21," she drawled, concealing a smirk when he stiffened. "What's with the interrogation? New safety precaution to screen out other suspected SRB members?"

"This is the last time I'm going tell you, kid. Either call me Harkness and stop bringing that up or get the hell off my boat," he snapped, his voice growing gruffer at the mention of the Synth Retention Bureau.

She issued a weary sigh and shifted the heavy pack strapped over her armor. "Relax. I won't say anything in front of other people." Several beats of strained silence went by before she added, "Now move so I can pass out at the Weatherly."

He pinned her with a dubious stare. "Looking to bunk in the hotel, huh? Did your Tenpenny suite lose its flavor or something?"

Raine's gaze went skyward as she fought the urge to shove past him. Her half-healed injuries throbbed under the bandages wrapped by the Brotherhood medics, having been exacerbated during her violent final departure from the Citadel. She'd had enough of the incessant missions, the constant expectations of following others' linear to-do lists. Her agenda now consisted of laying low and recuperating, but of course this troublesome, wary man insisted on making himself an obstacle.

"It's all the way across the map, and I just got back on my feet after making Project Purity a success," she told him tiredly. _So you should be rolling out the red carpet for the person who brought purified water to the Capital Wasteland._

Harkness's jaw tightened. "From what I've heard on the radio, the real hero is a late Brotherhood Sentinel. Not you."

She swore under her breath. _Goddamn Three Dog._

He studied her for a moment, taking in her bedraggled state. She'd never liked his perpetual analyzing, the way he always breathed down her neck, as if he had wired his own system to track her every move. One incident involving an assisted suicide of a hopeless, elderly man, and Harkness had swooped down on her like a reenactment of the Great War. Despite all the favors she had done for other Rivet City residents, he had targeted her for life.

Even now, several weeks after the fact, he still held onto that grudge. She estimated three minutes tops before her knees gave out and sent her crumpling to the ground in a graceless heap. Patience ebbed and gave way to consternation as a spell of dizziness swept over her.

"Is that what this is about? What, you only let heroes in now?" Raine asked.

Harkness stepped closer, eyeing her harshly. "This is about me making sure you won't be a problem before I let you back into this city," he growled. "Even if you helped with Project Purity, you're on thin ice as it is."

She froze at those last few words, catching the flicker of perplexity cross his features when she pierced him with a fierce glower. _Thin ice._ An image of another man, much younger, filled her vision and dispelled the lethargy in her bones at once. A wave of unwanted emotions followed, breaking free of their bindings to race across her working memory. Grief. Shame. Remorse. These unacknowledged things clawed for recognition, and she forcibly pushed them back, dismissing their existence once again. Tense minutes passed. She drew in a sharp breath, angry, slighted, and just a little uneasy.

No matter the distance or length of time, the Vault still lived within her.

Harkness couldn't have known the can of worms he'd opened with that latter sentence, but he found himself backing up and brandishing his assault rifle when she invaded his personal space.

"You know, I was this close to handing your synthetic ass over to Zimmer," Raine hissed in a low, threatening pitch while jabbing the front of his vest with her index finger. She stood close enough to see the nicks and scars on the skin of his face, every realistic crease and pore that disguised the true construction beneath. "But I didn't. So at least give me that."

He glared down at her, bringing up a hand to shove her away. She staggered and regained her footing, never breaking their eye contact. The temperature plummeted in the space between them, and she witnessed the way he seemed to wrestle with his own prejudice against her. It was a prejudice built on justified ground, but it also gave her little room to prove her willingness to reform. Or, at least, her willingness to keep to herself and steer clear of others.

Finally, Harkness barked, "Am I going to regret letting you in?"

"No."

The single word held the resonating sincerity of an exhausted spirit just wanting to rest. Another few seconds ticked by before he stepped aside and gestured her forward. Although he still appeared unhappy about granting her access, his reservations switched to surprise when she pushed a plasma rifle into his arms as she trudged past. He balanced it over the firearm he already carried, remarking out loud that it had been the one he'd given her a while ago.

"You can have that back, by the way," she declared. "Never felt right carrying a piece of you with me, android."

She made it to the marketplace entrance before he spoke.

"Raine," he called, slinging the plasma rifle over his shoulder. "Maybe you should reconsider which of us is the human and which of us is the machine here."

She paused in mid-step, but proceeded inside without answering. No point dwelling on something she already knew.

Her body was flesh, her heart mechanical.

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** Raine is sort of a character study for me since I'm learning my way around developing a personality from scratch, as opposed to developing an established canon character's personality. It's definitely a challenge, but I always like tackling new things in writing, so hopefully I handle her characterization well throughout the story. Constructive criticism, questions, and any other comments are much appreciated!


	2. Cage of Metal Walls

**- II -**

**Cage of Metal Walls**

"Cap for your thoughts?"

Raine glared at the floor and pressed the cold bottle of Nuka-Cola against her forehead as she sat in a slumped position on the edge of the bed. "…No cap, just kill me."

The amplified ringing of the cash register outside the room sent sheer agony ripping across her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed the blanket to fall from her chest as she brought up her free palm to knead one temple. The Pip-Boy on her wrist weighed more heavily than she remembered. Vera came to sit beside her, already dressed in the prim and proper attire befitting a hotel manager. She placed a hand on Raine's bare shoulder, sliding her fingers over the soft planes of her back.

"Eight shots in a row last night. And I've never even seen you drink before," Vera commented, gently tugging on tendrils of the younger woman's long black hair. "What was the occasion?"

Raine drew away in an abrupt movement and rose to her feet, still clutching the bottle to her pounding cranium. _Just don't ask._ "Whatever it was, I accomplished my goal of forgetting it."

The hot air clung to the film of dried sweat on her skin, piling discomfort on top of the pain. She stumbled around none too gracefully, grabbing her bra and panties from the floor and attempting to slip them on one-handed. When she lost her balance and almost toppled into the metal dresser near the door, Vera stood.

"Here, let me help," she offered, coming forward to take hold of the twisting undergarments.

"Knock it off. I don't need you."

"Sure, just like you don't need me every time you sneak into my quarters with your clothes already halfway off. You've been here two weeks and haven't missed a night jumping into my bed." Vera finished fixing the bra straps and sighed, her warm breath brushing against the nape of Raine's neck. "So… who's Amata?"

Raine tensed, alarm shooting throughout her body. Hearing a name she'd never spoken in Rivet City invoked a bout of apprehension that clutched at her stomach. She turned to regard her lover with suspicion. "How…?"

"That's what you kept calling me last night at the height of your intoxication," Vera stated, frowning.

_Ah, shit._

Lowering the Nuka-Cola bottle and placing it on top of the dresser, Raine pressed her lips together and retrieved the rest of her clothing. She inwardly berated herself as she threw on a black tank top, displeased that her past hovered so close to the surface, ready to spill out the instant her tongue loosened under the influence.

Vera sighed, crossing her arms. "Look. You've got some baggage, I get it. And you're still young. But I'm at the point in life where I want to settle, Raine. So if you're not intending to commit, this 'arrangement' between us is going to have to stop."

Raine merely peered over at her as she zipped up her jeans. "Letting me down easy? Better than what I've gone through before."

"Sorry, but when it comes down to it, I'm still running a business here."

"Yeah, I get it. I'll start paying for my hotel room." Raine turned away and tied her hair up in a tangled ponytail. The hairstyle added pressure to the hammering in her head, but she did her best to bear with it. Glancing over her shoulder, she added, "At least now Seagrave might stop cutting my wages since I won't be fucking the woman of his dreams anymore."

She paid no heed to Vera's wounded expression as she stepped into and tied her boots. Her vision danced when she straightened, throwing off her gait as she forced herself to trudge to the exit. And upon yanking the door open, she found a short hindrance blocking her path.

"Morning!" Bryan Wilks chirped while grinning up at her.

Raine blinked, wondering how long the kid had been standing there. "Hey," she said shortly and moved around him before he could engage her in unwanted conversation again.

As he repeated the greeting to Vera, she made her unsteady way through the makeshift hotel lobby, where Mister Buckingham hovered behind the front desk. It acknowledged her in a voice identical to Andy's, the Mister Handy unit back in Vault 101. She shook off the familiar internal discord at the resemblance and continued on to the corridor outside. The perpetual sound of groaning metal echoed across the length of the floor, and she clamped her hands over her ears, feeling the reverberations strike her skull.

_Oh my God… I've gone through radiation sickness less painful than this._

Taking a left, she dragged herself toward her room next door and spared a fleeting look at the closed quarters where Dr. Zimmer once resided. Her mouth fell into a hard line at the thought of what might still be lying inside, but she pushed it back, figuring security had already ransacked and cleared out the interior after the android fiasco. She proceeded to her room and staggered in, heading straight for the stash of purified water she kept hidden in her wardrobe.

Vague unrest tugged at her, but she dismissed it as she selected a bottle and took a swig. Project Purity's Aqua Pura line had yet to reach Capital-wide dispersal. Although Rivet City received only limited shipments of it for the time being, Officer Lepelletier did more complaining about the Brotherhood's sabotaged water caravans than actual problem-solving. Raine deemed it better not to trouble herself with the overpriced results of her father's work by simply hoarding the purified water she'd already collected throughout her travels.

Once she finished rehydrating, she tossed the bottle back into the wardrobe and hoped the pressure in her cranium abated soon. The hangover, coupled with the musty smell of the enclosed city, left her nauseous and more irritable than usual—which, suffice it to say, boded ill for her upcoming work hours.

She took a deep breath and grabbed a worn surgical mask on her way out, gritting her teeth when the door clanged shut behind her. A passing security guard eyed her but said nothing, and she glared back before padding over to the marketplace entrance at the end of the corridor. Her appearance went unnoticed by all except one, and she sensed his attention on her immediately as she tried to adjust her hearing to the typical racket of the hangar deck.

Harkness stood at his post down below near the end of the shops, his jaw hardening when her gaze clashed with his. The customary annoyance welled up, but she cut their staring contest short when her queasiness increased. With some wry amusement, she considered informing him later that the very sight of him made her sick. Mulling over that potential gem of a conversation, she alerted the others to her presence by clomping down the metal staircase.

"Raine," Seagrave Holmes called from the other side of the chain-link fence to her right. He adjusted his bulky motorcycle helmet as he scowled at her. "You realize you're a half hour late for work?"

She sent him a sideways glance and donned the surgical mask while walking over. "As long as I get my workload done, it's not a problem, right?" she returned, voice muffled behind the 3-ply filter.

He shook his head and started grumbling about how her repairing skill was the only reason he put up with her attitude problem. She ignored his disgruntlement and turned the corner to Gary's Galley, where Angela Staley paused in her sweeping to shoot her a frown. Raine strode by without acknowledging the younger girl, detecting her residual resentment over the situation with Diego, who had recently entered the priesthood at Raine's encouragement. Gary Staley observed the exchange from behind the counter of the restaurant, but looked away when her icy blue eyes flashed at him.

The other merchants went about their business in their stalls, having become accustomed to Raine's perplexing employment among them. They sometimes still questioned her decision to settle and work in the city, but she left them to their speculations, feeling no need to explain herself. Of course, that particular mystery didn't sit well with the chief of security, and she grew ruffled at the way he kept watching her as she approached the front of Rivet City Supply.

Seagrave had just finished pushing a heap of broken weapons and armor pieces toward her workstation at the rear of the shop. "Here. I need all these either fixed or discarded by closing," he told her, and then wrinkled his nose as she swept past. "Have you been drinking? You reek of booze."

"Just let me do my job in peace, and I won't puke all over your merchandise," Raine replied, plopping down on a tattered trunk set up against the fence. "My goddamn head feels like it's splitting open."

"Jesus, did Vera at least give you something to help with that hangover?"

"Not like she's my girlfriend, so no." Raine sneered up at him from behind the mask. "She's not my _anything_ starting today, so now's your chance to give it another shot. Hell, maybe she'll go straight this time around."

Seagrave flushed at the taunt, but disappointed her by not rising to her bait. After a second of silence, he pivoted on his heel without a word and took his seat at the front counter, switching on the radio next to his own repair project. Raine scoffed at the man's passive nature and reached for a dented combat helmet in her pile. The atmosphere improved a bit over the next few minutes as she hammered the damaged item back into top shape, pausing only when her headache spiked to excruciating levels. The lilting music drifting from the radio helped to distract her from the pain, and soon she fell into the autonomous rhythm of hammering, sharpening, and buffing.

She preferred fixing electronics over firearms and equipment, but the work was satisfying enough. And when left to her own devices, she didn't mind the marketplace environment. Several conversations floated from the other stores, and the aroma of Gary's latest mysterious concoction wafted over from the restaurant. Although she tended to segregate herself from everyone else, the quiet community provided a welcome contrast from the harsh life out in the Wasteland. However, at the same time, many physical features of the city brought about a tangible, stinging sort of nostalgia.

Raine glanced up from her tinkering to scan the premises. Metal surfaces and unfiltered lighting. She likened it to a dilapidated version of Vault 101, where the absence of working Vault technology resulted in a much darker and eroded setting. The corridors especially struck home in the similarities, forming a cage around her; one of metal walls. And yet, even after spending half a month here, she hadn't moved on.

The reason existed. She just never put it into words.

Her vision roamed over the area and away from the glaring lights, only to once again settle on Harkness's overbearing form a few meters from the front of the shop. He had shifted his attention to Lana Danvers, his second-in-command. Raine studied the professionalism and easy friendship between the two as they conversed, noting the rare ease of his posture. Considering how stiff he appeared whenever he followed her around the decks under the pretense of "standard patrolling," she'd thought him incapable of relaxing.

His constant vigilance both irritated and baffled her, and she pounded the combat shotgun on her workbench harder than necessary as she resumed her work. Come to think of it, she could barely take a piss without emerging from the communal bathrooms to find him standing near the entrance, as if that were completely normal. His fixation on her had begun to chafe, as did his obvious expectation to catch her doing something illegal. Granted, she did have a less-than-stellar reputation around the Wasteland (to say the least), but Harkness was fishing for any excuse to throw her out of the city. He could disguise his true intentions as much as he wanted; she saw right through him with every step he took on her shadow.

The sudden rattling of the chain-link fence at her back jolted her out of her musings.

"Haha, jumpy, aren't you, dyke?" Trinnie's simpering voice chortled from behind her. "What, did you think it was a big bad penis coming after you? Isn't that, like, a rug-muncher's greatest fear or something?"

Raine didn't bother turning around as she reassembled the shotgun. "Actually, my greatest fear is the idea of having to 'munch' a ruined 'rug' like yours. So how about you take that diseased, gaping vortex and scram?"

A few stunned beats went by before Trinnie sputtered, "The fuck did you just say, bitch? You sure talk tough for some Vault wimp that needs to wear a mask to protect your delicate, pampered lungs from all the deck rust."

"Hey," Seagrave cut in, sending both young women sharp looks, "I need Raine to concentrate on repairs, so you two will have to put off your catfight till later."

Trinnie snorted, but eventually moved away from the fence, muttering, "Whatever. Vaultie skank."

Raine cursed the unsavory interruption as her headache worsened. Dealing with the Muddy Rudder's hairstyle-challenged junkie and part-time hooker grated on her nerves on a good day. Doing so during her first ever hangover incited outright murderous aspirations. She shoved the encounter from her mind and focused on her task, deciding she'd daydream about Trinnie's demise later.

Once she managed to complete the shotgun assembly, she examined a series of nicks on the stock that had initially been overlooked. They dotted the material in a manner she'd come to recognize, as she had purchased enough weapons from one of its merchants to notice the pattern. Holding it up, she leaned around the grimy divider that separated the supply store from Flak 'N Shrapnel's.

"This combat shotgun belong to you boys?"

Shrapnel appeared almost at once, snatching the firearm from her hands and inspecting it. His weathered forehead creased under his shaggy hair as he demanded, "You seriously brought this thing back from the dead?"

"Weapon resurrection is my superpower," she responded in a dry tone, her eyes wandering down to the knife strapped to his belt. For a dull old blade, it still carved some hefty nicks whenever he went into one of his restless spells.

Flak came up behind him, seeming more impressed as he stroked his mustache. "I coulda sworn this one was done for. Never shot right, no matter how many times I cleaned it out."

"The problem was pitting. Interior of the barrel was corroded to hell, so I polished it up for you. It should work fine now," Raine declared.

While Shrapnel peered at her harshly—which he did with everyone except his business partner—Flak took the shotgun and nodded at her.

"Well thanks, kid. It's much appreciated."

"Yep."

She returned to her station, already set to embark on her next task. It figured that the people she had fewest issues with were the two grizzled men with shady pasts. Rough around the edges, but she appreciated their relative disinterest in her Wasteland dealings and relocation to Rivet City.

The next few hours crawled by at an agonizing pace. As soon as Raine had reached the last object in her pile, Seagrave—with utmost glee—scooted a crate full of additional repair jobs toward her feet. She glowered at the back of his head as she worked on a rusted missile launcher, imagining the irony of taking him out with it once she had it in pristine condition. Exhaustion now weighed down her limbs, and she wanted nothing more than to crash on her bed and sleep the afternoon away.

Meanwhile, Harkness had stopped by numerous times during his rounds. Raine played oblivious whenever he walked up to Seagrave to inquire about business or current affairs, but the tension in her frame increased with each occurrence. His eyes never strayed far from her, and the borderline harassment prodded her to second-guess her decision to eliminate Zimmer for him. A vein twitched in her forehead as her thoughts wandered again to the Institute scientist's old room.

However, the program on the radio caught her attention when a familiar drawl erupted from the speakers.

"Hey everybody, this is Three Dog! And you're listening to Galaxy News Radio," the disc jockey announced in his usual boisterous fashion.

Raine exhaled in aggravation. _Lord, here we go… the man who loves hearing himself talk…_

"So, it's been a while, but some of you may be wondering: What ever happened to that stone cold Lone Wanderer from Vault 101?"

She froze, hammer in midair.

"Last we heard, she was heading toward the southeast. But to tell you the truth, she's pretty much disappeared. And for those of you who've been living under rocks and have no clue who I'm talking about, all you need to know is that there isn't a more confusing girl in the history of the country."

Raine slowly lowered her arm as he went on.

"She might have contributed some good to the Wasteland through her involvement with Project Purity, but let's not forget all the shit she's pulled since August last year," Three Dog stated with clear condemnation. "Blew up a town of innocent people, helped a group of hostile ghouls take over a residential tower, singlehandedly killed off a lawful vigilante organization, wiped out an independent republic, infiltrated and evicted a community of children from their safe haven, and, most recently, tapped out of the Brotherhood of Steel when they needed help transporting clean water. Sheesh, talk about a fucking chip on the shoulder. I don't know how the world had done her wrong any more than the rest of us, but she was a crazy-ass force to be reckoned with."

Her knuckles went white as her grip around the hammer tightened. Everyone else had tuned in on the radio program as well, and their cautious glances in her direction only fueled the simmering in her blood.

"Then there are the arguably heroic things she's done, though they're few and far between. But let's get real. They don't excuse her wrongdoings. Maybe she realized that and left the Capital. Maybe karma finally caught up to her and killed her off. Either way, good riddance, 101. If you're gone, you may be remembered, but you won't be missed. You've caused far too much suffering. Do you even know the meaning of the word?"

A crash startled several people in the next instant. The radio lay malfunctioning on the floor beyond the store's front counter, sparks flying from the hammer embedded in its center. Raine retracted the hand that threw the tool, unapologetic even when Seagrave whirled around, his features scrunched in accusation.

"I can fix it," she told him before he opened his mouth. "I've built radios before. I know them in and out."

"Raine," he rumbled, frowning deeply at her. "I think you're done here. Just go."

She bristled. "What, so you're firing me?"

"Ms. Sinclair," Harkness interjected, already stomping over. "Don't make a scene. Go on and clear out of this deck. Now."

Raine lifted her hands in a compliant gesture, but pinned him with a fierce glare. "All right. Whatever."

The stares pressed in on her from all sides as she marched toward the main exit, shoving roughly against Harkness's shoulder on purpose along the way. Her pulse thundered with anger potent enough to drown out all other aches in her body, and she yanked off the surgical mask as she kicked the heavy door open and stepped outside. The mid-afternoon sun assaulted her retinas, but she slammed the metal construct shut behind her as a gust of wind blew past, carrying with it the scent of the Wasteland and the reminder of what awaited her out there.

She brushed back the strands of black hair that fluttered across her face, taking a breather as she struggled to contain her malice. Fine, she deserved that. She deserved all the antagonism she had sown. But there was another side. There was always another side to the story. It burned within her, struggling for release. Only, by this point, she wondered if it even mattered.

In the distance across the ramp, the water caravan post sat empty. Raine averted her gaze and entered the stairwell to the right. Her choices, her penalties. She understood the consequences, but she still felt the need to defend herself. Although, those defenses admittedly rang hollow since she never presented any context. But would context justify anything? Would anyone care?

She hovered at the base of the stairs leading to the upper deck, recalling Vera's puzzlement at the occasion calling for her to drink. Raine had already decided there wouldn't be a repeat experience, but the damage it had done to her rocky standing only made the downhill progression of this day more fitting.

One year ago today, Freddie Gomez had asked her a question that set something in motion.

"_Would you be my girlfriend?"_

Raine peered around the stairwell, seeing nothing but the phantom traces of the Vault.

There was a reason she had chosen this cage of metal walls.

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** This is my first big writing project that doesn't jump around in time or follow a particular questline, so you'll have to bear with me as I work on maximizing the showing aspect while reducing the narrator voice. I'd love to hear how I'm doing so far, so if you have a spare minute, please leave a review!


	3. Welcome to Reality

**- III -**

**Welcome to Reality**

_The sight of her new workroom struck her with a sinking realization as she stared at several years' worth of damaged radio parts strewn all over the floor and counters. An old toolkit balanced atop one heap of dials and bent antennae, right next to a stained and wrinkled utility jumpsuit that looked like it hadn't been washed in decades. The malfunctioning lights buzzed in continuous flickers, casting their on and off glow over the decrepit jukebox that sat against the far wall._

_Raine whirled on Amata, who stood at the doorway, avoiding her eyes. "What the hell is this? Mr. Brotch said my G.O.A.T. scores placed me on the engineering track. I'm supposed to be working on the Vault's electrical grid, but now you're telling I'm going to be a jukebox technician instead?"_

"_Look, I'm sorry. My father wanted to reassign you as a garbage burner, of all things. This was the best I could negotiate for you," Amata replied, almost pleading. "But also, this location is pretty secluded and safe. No one will be able to bother you down here."_

_Those latter statements hit Raine like a slap to the face, and she advanced on the shorter girl until they stood inches apart. "I've dealt with everyone giving me hell all this time. You know I can hold my own. I don't need to be tucked away like some kind of dirty secret. Let me talk to your dad, and I'll sort it out with him."_

"_No. He'll probably have you shot if you go even ten feet of his office. After he found out about us…" Amata trailed off and cleared her throat. "Listen, just accept this position for now. Down the road, I can try reasoning with him again."_

_Raine's gaze grew stony as she reached out with a bandaged hand. "Will he listen to reason?" she asked quietly, backing Amata into the edge of the doorframe. Her thumb brushed over the other's lower lip in a gesture that spoke of familiarity and longing. "Will you?"_

_Amata pushed her arm away, mindful of her injury. "Cut it out. You're dating Freddie now, right?"_

"_Yeah, so?"_

"_He's crazy about you. He told me he tried to come to your defense when my father sent Officer Mack to beat you. You should treat Freddie better—"_

"_Hold on, what?" Raine interrupted with rising ire. She clenched her fractured knuckles, heedless of the pain. "Your dad was responsible for this? He was the one behind Stevie assaulting me?"_

_Amata sighed wearily, appearing displeased with herself for saying too much. "Yes, in retaliation for getting involved with me. I don't know why he's always had it out for you, Raine. I'm doing what I can to buffer you against him. That includes getting you this job."_

_The air shifted as Raine shoved off from the doorframe and kicked the nearest pile of radio components. "This is fucking bullshit."_

"_I know, and I wish it wasn't this way, but the Overseer runs the show. You'll have to keep fighting. It's just how things are."_

_Amata took a few desolate steps out and then hesitated. When she turned back, her expression revealed something far worse than pity. It seared into Raine's temporal lobe, wiring itself into an unspoken mantra that slunk around her conscious._

_Hopelessness._

"_Welcome to reality. It's you against the Vault."_

Raine woke with a start, breathing heavily as a dull ache spread across the joints of her long-healed hand. She sat up on the lumpy mattress and cracked her knuckles in an attempt to dispel the reminder of the past. Her Pip-Boy's interface exuded a green glow that cut through the darkness of her room, but the memories still lurked in the shadows, beckoning and whispering in distant, haunting echoes.

She hated sleeping alone.

x-x-x-x-x

Without work to occupy her time or a lover to keep her distracted, she spent the day wandering around the city, seeking a task to stay productive. The search proved fruitless, but unsurprising; hardly anyone was willing to associate with her on a personal level, much less a professional one. After losing count of the number of rejections she received for jobs requiring any degree of customer service, she meandered aimlessly through the corridors, maintaining steadfast indifference to her circumstances.

Even so, the lack of activity invited the onset of trouble.

The remnants of the dream, the memory, pursued her at every turn. They loomed from the corners to haunt her, dwelled in the ground to swallow her. All attempts to face them led to reliving other events, ones she had locked deep inside in order to preserve what remained of her sanity. And for all the outward apathy she showed the world, she still faltered at the prospect of confronting her own demons.

They followed her now as she ascended the stairwell, nipping at her heels with each reverberating step on the rusty stairs. A flurry of images and sounds flooded her head to prove what she'd always tried to ignore. Although she had never returned to the Vault, she had never escaped it, either. In reality she wandered free, but in the silence she was trapped within herself. The dysphoria tore into her at every idle moment, forcing her to reconsider the wisdom of subjecting herself to this cage.

_I… need some air._

She made her way to the level that housed the flight deck, the hush of the space broken by the maintenance tools clanging together on her belt. Harkness's unusual absence from her trail was a welcome respite, but given the ongoing turmoil in her head, peace still eluded her. She struggled to shake it off upon reaching the bridge tower, and only after taking several paces toward the nearest exit did she register the commotion coming from the direction of the armory.

A hulking figure stumbled down the steps to the left, swearing as an indignant Mister Gutsy unit hovered above him.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'll have to shoot you next time you enter this unauthorized area, sir!" Private Jones declared before drifting back to his post upstairs.

The trespasser dusted himself off and snarled a stream of profanity under his breath until he noticed Raine standing there, giving him a blank look. His expression switched from incensed to interested, and he smoothed down his cropped black hair as he sauntered over to her. She watched him approach, identifying him as the sketchy slaver she had avoided speaking to during her previous stays in the city. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale sweat surrounded her when he stood too close for comfort, and she let out an exaggerated cough before waving at the air between them.

"Either take a shower or don't come near me," she snapped, attempting to walk past him.

His hand shot out to grip her elbow. "Hold on, don't be like that. I just want to talk to you for a minute," he drawled in a deep, suggestive voice.

She yanked her limb out of his grasp and clutched the hammer hanging at her hip. "Who are you again?"

Annoyance flashed across his brutish features. "Sister."

"…Okay."

"Don't ask. Anyway," he continued, leering at her, "I'm glad I ran into you. Word is you're so hated across the Wasteland that you make me look like a saint, but that's exactly the kind of girl I'm looking for. And it's a bonus that you're easy on the eyes." He cursed when she swatted away the fingers he brushed against her cheekbone. "Feisty, too."

"Right. Well, I'm gonna go now if you're finished making an ass of yourself," Raine said, skirting around him. _I've got enough on my mind without this sleaze adding to the pile. And what the hell is with his name, anyway?_

"Seriously, wait," he called when she was halfway to the door. "I got some work I could use some help with."

She paused at the keyword against her better judgment. Of the people she considered slightly less savage than deathclaws, Sister didn't even make that list. Still, desperation had a way with persuasion. Turning back, she asked, "Work?"

A smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. "That's more like it. Heard Seagrave cut you loose yesterday, but you've got a reputation as a damn good tinkerer. Wonder how else you're good with your hands…"

"If you've got a job to pitch to me, spit it out."

"Down, girl. Goddamn." He glanced behind him and lowered his voice. "That fucking robot up there. Guarding the armory. Think you could shut it down for me?"

Raine frowned, already disliking where this was going. "And why would I want to do that?"

"I'm thinking of taking up my… _profession_ again, now that people are getting all lax while raving about clean water imports. Perfect time to strike," Sister told her, sneering. "But to do that, I need the guns that asshole security chief confiscated from me. He took some of your weapons, too, didn't he?"

She thought about the larger firearms Harkness had sequestered in return for allowing her to reside indefinitely in Rivet City. "I can live without them."

"Yeah, right. After all the stories about your exploits and shit, you've gotta be missing those bad boys," Sister insisted as he once again imposed on her personal space. "C'mon, no one's up in the security quarters right now. Just use one of those wrenches you're wearing and take Jones out. It's already got a faulty processor. An electronics whiz like you could disable it in less than a minute."

Raine pressed a palm against his chest to prevent him from inching closer. "Jones is malfunctioning?"

"Yeah. The thing's easily confused and does a shitty job watching its station, but somehow it still catches me when I try to get in."

She contemplated that for a few moments, but shook her head. "I'll pass. You want to start slapping slave collars on people, you figure out the details yourself. I'm done with that kind of trouble."

Sister seized her forearms and squeezed hard, abandoning all pretense of pleasantry as he pierced her with a dark glower. She glared back at him in outrage and tried to break his hold, but when pitted against his physical strength, she couldn't free herself without making a racket. He pinned her arms down by her sides and pulled her toward him even as she leaned away in disgust.

"Don't give me that bullshit, bitch," he growled, bending forward so that his hot breath washed over her cheek. "I know what it's like getting all comfy someplace when you think you're through with the shit you used to do, but it never leaves you. It's always there in the back of your mind, telling you that you're not like everyone else, that you'll never _be_ like anyone else. You know this, too, right? You and me, we're the same."

A surge of rage erupted in response to his statements, manifesting in a sickening _crack_ as Raine reared back and slammed her head against his in a powerful head-butt. He howled and released her at once, and she barely felt the pain in her forehead as she snatched her hammer from her belt. However, instead of attacking, she stood shaking on the spot, wanting to gouge out the words that had lodged into her brain.

_Don't even try to act like you get me. You don't have a fucking clue._

"Fuck, I think you broke my nose, you cunt!" Sister yelled as blood flowed over his hands and the lower half of his face.

"That's not all I'll break if you ever touch me again," she shot back, punctuating each syllable with a wave of the hammer. "Now get lost, and I'll pretend this never happened."

His murderous countenance implied that he would rather pummel her to the ground, but the clamor of voices coming up the stairwell seemed to change his mind. With a malicious scowl that promised future retaliation, he spun on his heel and fled through the west door to the flight deck. Raine replaced the hammer on her belt and, on numb legs, forced herself up the stairs to the next level of the bridge tower, hoping to avoid whoever emerged from the stairwell. Her heart raced in an erratic tempo as she reached the top and pressed her back against one wall across from the armory.

Private Jones patrolled the sealed arsenal without acknowledging her presence. As her blood pressure returned to normal, she observed the possible glitches in its system, noting the weak propulsion jets and detection function. Although she still fumed at Sister's words and manhandling, she realized he had been correct about the ease of breaking into the armory if one had enough skill. Tempting, she admitted. A simple alteration of Jones's wires, and any disgruntled soul would have substantial firepower at their disposal. In the event that someone sought to wreak havoc across Rivet City…

She cast a quick glance around the security force's common area, but instantly stiffened at the mention of her name down below.

"Raine needs to just get the hell out," a familiar snotty tone griped. "Seriously, every jackass in the city has been twice as uptight ever since she got here. No one fucking likes her. You hate her, too, right, C.J.?"

"Well, she does make me nervous," came the little girl's hesitant reply. "She doesn't really talk, and Harkness looks mad whenever he's watching her."

Raine raised an eyebrow and sidled back down a few steps without revealing herself, crossing her arms as she continued listening in. Half the time, she'd forgotten that kids existed on this boat. Having spent her formative years in an enclosed environment where worrying about survival ranked low on a child's list of priorities, she had stopped distinguishing children in the Wasteland from the adults. Catching these kids badmouthing her in juvenile disdain, however, was more entertaining than anything. Especially the bratty James Hargrave, who was basically the miniature doppelganger of someone else she had grown up with.

"What do you mean she doesn't really talk? Remember what she said to me a few months ago? She told me my dad might've been eaten by some cannibals at this place called Andale or some shit," James seethed. "What kind of bitch tells a kid that? Screw her. I hope the rumors about people wanting to get rid of her are true."

_Those aren't rumors, kid._

"Hey, come on. She's all right in my book," a third voice piped up. "She helped me out in Grayditch and even brought me here when she didn't have to."

Raine tensed, a little put off by the uncustomary praise.

"Man, shut up, Bryan. She your girlfriend or something? What made you so special that you're the only one she hasn't treated like crap?" James demanded.

"I dunno. Maybe she felt bad for me since I lost my dad to the giant ants," Bryan replied. "I still don't know her reasons for doing the things she does, but to me, she's not a bad person."

"You're full of it. She's a worthless wreck with nothin' but crime to her name. Back me up, C.J."

"Oh, um…"

"No," Bryan interrupted. "I think she's just lonely. Sometimes lonely people don't know what to do with themselves."

Raine could made out their progression across the lower level, and she prepared to move when they neared the stairs, but they stopped at the base.

"What the hell are you even going on about?" James snarled. "She's a psycho, a murderer. She could snap any moment and kill us all. I bet she's just biding her time."

"Okay, now you're just spouting off BS," Bryan countered, now sounding angry. "She's not a psycho, she was probably just dealt some bad cards in life. Maybe something happened to make her this way."

Raine's brow furrowed as the sound of a door opening accompanied James's vehement argument. A second later, the door swung shut to heavy silence. She found the kids' opinions of her hardly enlightening, but she could admit that Bryan's insightful comments about her motives were impressive for his age. Even though she'd never made her choices with the intention of building her own infamy, she had grown accustomed to the social repercussions. And hearing someone come to her defense, especially a child she barely knew, was jarring in a sense.

She rested the back of her head against the metal surface of the wall, lost in her thoughts until the Mister Gutsy finally noticed her and zoomed over.

"Sir, I need you to state your business here, sir!" Jones proclaimed.

She stared at the robot in silent analysis, estimating the success rate of overriding and even hijacking its primary objective. Her gaze flickered to the room under its protection, where her Gatling laser and other big guns had been locked away.

"_She's not a bad person."_

Raine reached for the tools on her belt and advanced on Jones. _Not a bad person, huh? I guess we'll see._

In the end, Sister did get one thing right. The shadow of the past always lurked in the background, whispering enticing sentiments about the deeds one had done. She had never apologized, never experienced remorse for distributing justified reprisal.

Because when someone has lost all hope, the only thing they can do is strike back.

_Welcome to reality. It's you against the world._

x-x-x-x-x

**A/N:** I rewrote about two-thirds of this chapter and am finally satisfied with it. I took Harkness's appearance out, but the next update will include plenty of him. Thanks for reading this far in!


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